The Other
by ncfan
Summary: "It started as a whisper." Not every problem has a solution.


I own nothing.

* * *

><p>Take the example of yourself and your reflection upon still water. It was the first lesson taught to an alchemist in the interest of reconciling magic with science. How were you to prove that you were what was real, and that you were not yourself the reflection? How were you to prove that if the water was dashed, you would not fade away? You could run tests and cast spells to determine whether you were real, or the reflection, but nothing would ever be able to tell you for sure.<p>

That was the point of the lesson. Magic and science, both inexact arts, neither of them able to answer every question or solve every problem. The point of the lesson was thus:

Not every problem has a solution.

-0-0-0-

It started as a whisper, the hints of shadow at the edge of his peripheral vision. The apparition quavered like any shadow would when hit with blinding light. It seemed so harmless, but Otto, who had been sitting nearby where the apparition had materialized, whimpered and retreated deeper into the lab. It was real.

And there was the voice, a whisper upon a whisper, saying _Give up_.

-0-0-0-

Captain Shuggazoom never did come back. The Alchemist never would discover what had become of him, and after the first week or so, he stopped trying to contact him. He had no desire to abandon his friend, had no desire to believe that he had been abandoned, but there were more pressing matters to attend to.

(His hands shook if he wasn't careful. His hands shook and slipped over his tools. He rattled off equations and alchemical formulas in his head to calm himself and steady his hands. This needed to be done. There was too much to finish.)

The Alchemist had cast a glamour over himself to restore his original appearance—the monkeys were terrified of the aged, decrepit appearance his corruption by the Dark Ones had left him with, and he had hoped that this would ease their minds. Alas, it did not; of the six of them, only Nova and Mandarin seemed as comfortable in his presence as they had been before the gate was breached, and even then, the Alchemist suspected that they were not so trusting of him as they had been.

There was so much work to be done, so much he still had to do, and who knew how much longer it would be before…

In a way, Captain Shuggazoom's absence had proved a blessing. Their friendship was an old one, ten years back and more. The Alchemist had built a great many contraptions for his friend in the interests of fighting crime, had even been working on a robot monkey to act as a fellow protector for Shuggazoom City. Those things could be adapted, their lines in fate altered.

So could the monkeys.

-0-0-0-

The Veran Mystics believed primates of all sorts to be sacred animals. There was a cosmic force in the universe known as the Power Primate that was forever aligned against the evil of the Dark Ones. All monkeys and apes, however evolved or un-evolved they might be, had the capacity to tap into the Power Primate; with training, an evolved primate could call upon the Power Primate at will. For those who were not primates, the Power Primate was more difficult to call upon—for those who even possessed the potential, it took exhaustive training—but it was not impossible.

Never had the Alchemist seen or sensed the divine within his monkeys. They were the six he had raised from infancy, run tests on and watched over. They were all of them more intelligent than average for a monkey, Gibson, Mandarin and Antauri especially. They had distinct personalities and manners, to the point that even if they did not look so different from one another, the Alchemist could have told them apart at a glance. But none of them, not Nova, Sprx, Mandarin, Otto, Gibson or Antauri, seemed imbued with divine power. They were not the avatars of a cosmic force; they were just monkeys.

And yet…

_They are a threat_.

There it was.

_Will be a threat. Thorn in your side. Destruction. You should eliminate them._

The Alchemist came to in a daze, his vision clearing only reluctantly. Sprx and Nova were sitting at his feet, chattering anxiously up at him, their eyes wide and worried. The Alchemist became aware of something long and cold in his hand. When he saw what he was holding in his hand, his heart seized in his chest. A surgical scalpel.

He couldn't remember picking up the scalpel. He would have had to go to the surgery to retrieve it, and… Where was he now? The Alchemist was standing in the hallway outside of the room where the monkeys slept. How had he gotten here? The last he recalled, he had been in the laboratory.

The Alchemist placed the scalpel onto a table and dropped to his knees, sighing heavily. He patted Sprx and Nova's heads in turn. At least he knew of something the Dark Ones feared.

-0-0-0-

With each passing day, the Alchemist's sense of malaise grew stronger. There were potions and elixirs designed to stave off corruption by evil influences, but even when he took them dutifully, the way someone recovering from illness took antibiotics, the Alchemist knew he was only prolonging the inevitable. How that knowledge came to him, he could not say. Through whispers, through dreams in darkness, through one of any number of things. Shadows gathered around him, flickering on the walls as though dancing in candlelight; strange scratching sounds echoed in the walls and could never be traced.

Time wore on in a dim haze. The Alchemist milled about the laboratory, working so feverishly that he would look up to see the clock and realize that it had been six, twelve hours, a day or even two since he had last drank, or ate, or slept. When he tried to drink, his mouth was just as parched as it was before water passed his lips. When he tried to eat, the very sight of food made his gorge rise in his stomach. Lying down to sleep did nothing but leave him staring up at the ceiling, watching the shadows slither on the walls and his skin; even in his exhaustion, the Alchemist found himself wakeful, rooted to the ground, still going about his work. There was still so much that needed to be done.

_Give up_.

His hand slipped on the drill.

_You are nothing._

In the background, one of the monkeys began to shriek.

_You have no power to change anything. Your efforts will bear no fruit. Your hope will not avail you._

He had looked into the mind of darkness, and seen what it feared. He could not stop. He could not let anything stop him.

_You will fail. _His reflection shifted in the chrome of the helmet, becoming gaunt and angular, like a skull speaking out of sharp teeth. The Alchemist set his jaw, but was not shaken by surprise. Such images came to him often. He had not seen himself in the mirror in a long time.

-0-0-0-

To the monkeys, having their measurements taken was routine, expected, ordinary. They enjoyed it, even Sprx, who tended to be the twitchiest during the procedure. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the Alchemist taking them aside to measure their arms, legs, and the circumference of their head and chest, even if the next check-up wasn't due for a month. Sometimes, the Alchemist wished that they weren't so trusting.

It went against the ethics of both magic and science to do what he was doing. To alter the nature of a living being was forbidden in alchemy, and such invasive experimentation upon animals was equally forbidden in science. Anyone would judge the Alchemist's present work and deem him monstrous, and be more right than they could possibly imagine, but this was not a whim or a fancy born of a dream. This had to be done. It had to be done, lest more sorrow come from his inaction.

_What hope have you? You will be devoured. That is your only fate, and it is your monkeys' only fate. _The whisper had become more like a voice, ever close beside him ever at his ear. At times, it seemed realer to him than any other sound.

Steeling his nerve, the Alchemist began his work. Flesh, replaced with metal and wires and cybernetics. Skin replaced with steel. Faces hidden behind masks. They couldn't consent to their changes, couldn't comprehend how different they were becoming. They whimpered when they saw their new metal arms, running fingers over where once had been fur, and only metal could be found.

When it was done, he would barely be able to recognize the monkeys for what he had made them.

-0-0-0-

"…_The silver monkey, the pinnacle of my robot warriors, but ultimately a… a failure!"_

This was to be the failsafe. If all else failed, if the monkeys failed, surely a purely robotic warrior would not. A robot, not a cyborg—a creature of metal and wires that needed neither to eat nor sleep, who felt no pain, and would be able to fight against evil until its dying breath. The silver monkey would never give up, never give in. If it was damaged, it would be a simple matter of replacing the damaged parts.

But this was not enough. Every last test, every last attempt to imbue the silver monkey with life had met with failure. The robot lied on the table, nothing but a lifeless shell with blank, dull eyes.

He was being laughed at. From every corner, from every last shadowed place the cold, cruel laughter rang in his ears, drowning out all other noise. _"As I foreseen, you have failed! Do you understand now? You can never win!"_

His hands shot out and lifted the silver monkey's lifeless body from the table. His blood roared in his ears as he lifted the metal frame, cold and inert, over his head. Then, the Alchemist found his eyes drawn downwards, towards his shadow. Except…

It wasn't his shadow.

With great difficulty, the Alchemist lowered his arms slowly, and replaced the silver monkey on the table without dashing it to pieces against the floor. Slowly, horribly slowly, the fury drained out of his limbs, and he was left with only weariness. He understood. This required more than an amalgamation of magic and science. It required living energy. It required what every living thing possessed, but something purely robotic would never have: a soul.

The silver monkey could never be made animate. It would never be more than the sum of its parts. But there was still the six. There was still hope, in them.

-0-0-0-

The sirens were blaring, and there were five monkeys at their stations, dutifully awaiting the mind wipe that would absolve them of memory. Those who went right away didn't question the Alchemist's demand of them. There was not a flicker of doubt in their eyes. They were like children, children who would never have dreamed of contradicting what to them may as well have been their father.

And then, there was the one who would.

"I don't want to lose my memories!" Nova pleaded, her voice rising in panic. "Please!"

Those were the first words he had ever heard her say. Programming the monkeys with the ability to speak in a more evolved dialect of simian language had been the last thing the Alchemist had done—he wasn't sure how to answer their questions, and wasn't even sure that he could bear to countenance them. What would they say to him? But these had been the words he feared the most, the ones he wished least to hear.

The Alchemist knelt and took Nova into his arms. "I'm sorry, dearest Nova," he said with a heavy heart. "I won't forget you, but it is imperative… that you forget me."

_I have no words to make you understand. I have no words with which to tell you why I have done all of this, why I have taken your life out of your hands and given you an existence you didn't ask for. If ever you do discover the reasons why, I can only pray… that you forgive me._

-0-0-0-

They were gone. He had sent them far away in the Super Robot, where they would wake up in several hours, with no memory of their past lives. That was for the best. The monkeys would be better able to fight against the evils of the universe if they could not remember he who had made them what they were.

It was over. His hope had flown away. Now, all the Alchemist could do was pray that what hope he had would not be in vain.

It was over. The months spent descending into darkness had become moments. His flesh was melting; any will to resist within him was spent.

The other walked away with what was left of the Alchemist's body. The other was now the speaker, and the Alchemist the one who whispered, the faint reflection upon still water.


End file.
